


Untidy

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys in Skirts, Established Relationship, M/M, Maids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 16:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Nyx is tired and Ignis is confusing. Okay.





	Untidy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Maid cosplay [...] Ignis wearing a frilly apron, bending over to dust, showing off his pert ass until Any grows so impatient and horny he fucks Ignis hard against the furniture. No toilet fluids or Ignoct. Any can be anyone but Noctis, bonus points for rarepair. ++ Iggy's ass is prelubed and ready ++ Ignis is a sobbing and drooling mess with how hard Any fucks him” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Some days are harder than others, and this was a _hard_ one, from warping monster down to training bratty recruits, right to getting his ass kicked by the marshal in front of the king’s own shield. Every bone in Nyx’s body is crying out for _sleep_ , but his head’s still a bitter blur. In a way, he likes his job. At least, he wouldn’t want any other one. He likes helping, doing _something_ , making any kind of difference—but the scars and soreness are still an unpleasant aftertaste.

By the time he’s shouldering open the door of his apartment, he’s slumping on the walls. He lets his bag and jacket drop to the floor like so many bricks, kicking right out of his boots. It isn’t until he’s down to his socks that he notices something different—the air smells _delicious_.

A part of Nyx swells. His boyfriend’s over. He’s going to be taken care of. But that means he has to take care of someone in return, and all he really wants to do is sink into his sofa and lose himself in the fiction of his television. 

He heads straight for the living room. The couch calls to him like a beacon. He drops onto it, plucks the remote off the coffee table, and stiffens when he straightens.

Ignis is in the corner, facing away from him, duster busy with the bookshelf. For once, Ignis isn’t wearing a trim suit or dress clothes of any kind.

He’s wearing an actual _dress_ , black and velvety, with little cap sleeves and a flowing skirt too short to be decent. Matching black stockings, trimmed in lace, reach all the way up to his thighs, showing off just a peek of skin between them and the dress’ hem. A white bow made from apron strings rests just above his rear, emphasizing the best part of Ignis’ whole body. Nyx _stares_.

Ignis tells him, without even bothering to turn around, “Dinner’s in the oven.”

It’s not the warmest welcome ever. But the scrumptious sight and cooking meal are rich enough presents. Nyx completely doesn’t understand what’s going on.

He doesn’t _want_ to understand. He still wants to pass out with the remote on his stomach and some mind-numbing program playing in the background. Ignis is a definite challenge to that prospect. He’s far more distracting than any TV show could ever be. And he’s cleaning Nyx’s place, not just for show—when Nyx actually looks around, he can tell that a dent’s been made in his mess. 

He thinks of apologizing for that. But he never _asked_ Ignis to come clean it up. He rarely asks anyone for anything. That’s not why he gave Ignis his key. He also thinks of telling Ignis _not tonight_ , but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is a dry: “Why’re you dressed like that?”

Ignis glances over one slender shoulder. His hair is brushed up, as usual, but it doesn’t look slick with gel—it looks soft, natural, just begging for fingers to run through it. Ignis tells him simply, “I thought you’d like it.”

Nyx does. But he’d like Ignis’ ass no matter what it was wearing. He’s never had a maid fetish in particular. He’s never asked to see Ignis in a skirt, though he’s thought of Ignis in lingerie once or twice. Ignis finishes with the bookshelf and sets his duster down on top of it, reverting instead to the desk buried under papers and clothes. Ignis meticulous reroutes each article cluttering the surface.

Nyx lifts the remote but never clicks the power. He just ends up dropping his arm again. His gaze follows Ignis around the room without meaning to—every time he tries to look away, Ignis will move and the skirt will bounce, or Ignis will shift and the light will shine down his stockings, and Nyx will be drawn back to the sliver of bare skin below his skirt that suddenly looks so _scandalous_. The entire ensemble fits Ignis like a glove. And he moves in it like a natural. It’s not some cheap costume—it looks like it was _made_ for him.

Or maybe Ignis just knows how to work it. Ignis knows how to do most things. 

Maybe Ignis is trying to tell him something. As much as Nyx hates to go too far down that mental path, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been neglecting Ignis lately. They’ve both been so busy with the Citadel, but they always are, and they know that. They know where all their loyalties lie. But somehow, Ignis always makes time for Nyx, often providing meals, cleaning, advice and a listening ear, sex whenever Nyx wants it. But, like how quiet Nyx is with his own desires, Ignis never asks for much in return. Maybe this, somehow, is a lesser wound to his pride: baiting Nyx instead of just asking. This could be Ignis’ way of crying out for his man’s attention. 

If that’s what it is, Nyx would rather Ignis just say it. He’s not good with relationship games. He watches Ignis flitter about his apartment, his libido fighting against his weariness, growing more annoyed with both of them. He wants to stick to his plan. He wants to be lazy and recuperate. But his dick wants to lift up that flimsy skirt and see if Ignis has on panties underneath.

He keeps expecting Ignis to drop the pretense. If Ignis is going to be here, dressed to please, he might as well get over to the couch and do it—straddle Nyx’s lap and drop down onto the dick he so clearly wants. But Ignis calmly attends to the apartment, facing away from the tent in Nyx’s pants. 

When Ignis has removed everything from the desk, he returns with a rag to rub over the surface, gathering up any last remnants of dirt and grime. He reaches all the way to the end of it, bending down across the table to reach, letting his chest nearly touch the wood and his lean legs drawn taught against it. His thighs are clamped together, his skirt riding up with the new angle, and Nyx finally gets a peek at the bottom of his ass cheeks.

There’s no sign of underwear. There is the telltale shimmer of clear liquid— _lube_.

That confirms it. It doesn’t explain Ignis’ motive, but it does tell Nyx what his boyfriend wants. Hard as a rock, Nyx no longer has the willpower to deny Ignis anything. 

With practiced speed that even Ignis couldn’t match, Nyx is up and across the room in a heartbeat. He rams right into Ignis, his thicker legs bracing Ignis’ on either side, feet bracketing Ignis’, crotch slamming into Ignis’ pert ass. Ignis cries out in surprise, and the movement of Nyx’s hips knocks Ignis down onto the desk. 

The skirt’s _soft_. But not as soft as Ignis’ thighs, and it definitely won’t be as soft as Ignis’ insides. Nyx looms over Ignis and shoves his hand against Ignis’ mouth, fingers pushing in, wetting them just in case. Ignis obediently sucks them in and moans appreciatively as Nyx strokes his tongue and twists around him. Ignis even licks at Nyx’s fingers as they withdraw. Then Nyx is hiking the skirt up the rest of the way, rolling it right to Ignis’ waistline and leaving it there, exposing the luscious curves of his behind. Nyx can’t resist copping a feel with one hand while the other presses between his cheeks, petting at his hole. 

Just as Nyx expected, Ignis’ puckered entrance twitches open for him. Nyx thrusts one finger inside without much trouble—Ignis makes a choking sound and splays his hands flat against the table. The dusk rag’s pushed off to the side, utterly forgotten. Nyx knows he didn’t really come just to _clean_.

At least Nyx doesn’t have to waste any more of his night on foreplay. He sticks two more fingers inside and scissors Ignis with easy efficiency—Ignis is warm and wet and open for him, clenching and flexing as Nyx makes sure it’s ready. Mentally, Ignis clearly is—he’s breathing hard, rear straining into Nyx’s hold. When Nyx pulls his fingers out, leaving Ignis to groan at the loss, he slaps Ignis’ ass once just to see it flush. Ignis is a gorgeous creature in just about every aspect, but his ass especially turns Nyx on.

They’ve long since passed protection. Nyx always has potions stalked, but they’re both clean, and he knows Ignis would never cheat on him. With Ignis already prepared, there’s nothing else for Nyx to do but unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants—he’s got his cock out in a heartbeat, and Ignis lifts marginally off the table, craning to look back at it. Sometimes, Nyx thinks Ignis likes his cock as much as he likes Ignis’ ass. The rest of the time, he knows that isn’t possible.

Lining up, Nyx presses his tip against the pink walls of Ignis’ hole. Ignis murmurs, somewhere right between commanding and pleading, “ _Nyx_...”

Nyx responds by thrusting forward, shoving his thick cock right into Ignis’ open hole. Despite all the warning, Ignis still cries out, arching up and tensing up, his hands trying to claw right into the wood. Nyx wraps one arm around Ignis’ waist to brace him, noting the smooth texture of Ignis’ frilled apron. As nice as the outfit is, Nyx still scrunches it up in his fists, pulling it up to expose as much of Ignis as possible. He holds Ignis against his body as he grinds his cock as deep inside as he can manage, while Ignis gasps and moans. 

Once Nyx is buried to the hilt, he doesn’t bother giving Ignis time to adjust. Ignis has had more than enough time to mold to his cock over their relationship, and right now, Nyx just wants to _ruin_ him. The delicate dress turns Ignis’ suave beauty from handsome to _pretty_ , and Nyx, for whatever twisted reason, wants nothing more than to defile that. Ignis makes it worth the effort with every breathy whine and needy cry. When Nyx bends over the supple form below him, he realizes that Ignis even _smells_ like fruit and sugar. 

There’s nothing pretty in the way that Nyx fucks him. Spurred to the hunger of an animal, Nyx starts mercilessly pounding Ignis into the desk, hard enough that it has to hurt. Fishing beneath the skirt, Nyx uses one hand to cup Ignis’ cock, protecting it from bashing into the edge. He’s not at all surprised to find Ignis iron-hard. Nyx wraps his fingers, still slick with Ignis’ spit, around the shaft. He pumps and squeezes Ignis out of sync, roughly jerking him off like some grimy Crownsguard in the changing rooms. Ignis doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He bucks helplessly into Nyx’s hand while Nyx batters his ass. 

When Nyx hits the right spot, he knows. Ignis shudders, lets out a choked sob, and manages a weak, “Please—!” that quickly cuts off as Nyx stabs into him again. Nyx deliberately angles right on some thrusts and doesn’t bother on others. As much as he wanted to just get to bed, now that he’s actually _fucking Ignis_ , he can’t bring himself to rush. Ignis is too good to waste. Nyx fucks him relentlessly but appreciates and savers every thrust and every detail. He drinks in the growing stench of sex and Ignis’ sweat as Nyx pushes him to the limit. Nyx drops the hand holding up Ignis’ skirt to grope around Ignis’ thighs, sliding under the fallen fabric to grab Ignis’ sac, tug on it, and grind his heel into it, trail his fingers up through the dark curls at the base of Ignis’ cock, and just generally feel up his heated skin. Ignis’ noises increase, punctuating the steady slapping sounds of flesh on flesh. Then Nyx decides the intoxicating mix of feeling, smelling, hearing, and seeing Ignis isn’t enough—he reaches an arm under Ignis’ flat chest and pulls him up, tugging at the dress’ sleeve, so Nyx can get a taste of Ignis too. 

They’re both in high-up positions—Ignis can’t afford to show up to work tomorrow with hickeys and bite marks all over his neck. But his clothes always cover his shoulder, and Nyx goes to town on that—he licks and kisses and bites down until Ignis has screamed himself hoarse. Nyx’s hips never stop throughout it. They never slow or ease up. He even keeps going when Ignis tenses in his arms, screams a final time, and burst all over Nyx’s hand and desk.

Nyx keeps pumping his cock. Ignis trembles, sobs, and slumps in Nyx’s arm, but Nyx still keeps going. He works in a bruise that’ll linger for days, then lowers Ignis back to the desk, knowing that if he lets go, Ignis will just fall and crash and break his glasses. Instead, he’s gently put back into place, allowed to brace himself against the surface as Nyx keeps using him. Nyx fondles Ignis’ balls long after they’re empty. He keeps a tight grip on Ignis’ cock even when it’s soft. He pounds into Ignis’ ass to the lewd sight of Ignis _wrecked_. Sweaty and flushed, panting hard Ignis shakes each time Nyx slides into him. His face is turned against the table, his dilated eyes wet at the sides and far away. There’s even a bit of drool leaking out the corner of his mouth that Nyx is tempted to lean down and lick away, but he likes the sight of Ignis _dirtied_ too much to ruin it.

Ignis doesn’t complain about Nyx still using him. Nyx likes him this way almost as much as hard and wanting—soft, spent, and pliant. Nyx figures if he’s going to get his rest afterwards, he’ll need to exhaust Ignis as much as him. It isn’t _quite_ the same as a grueling day of physical labour, but it’s as close as sex can come. 

Another few thrusts, and Nyx reaches the end himself—he practically growls as he explodes inside Ignis’ tight channel. Ignis whimpers and clenches around him, adding a dizzying rush of pleasure that milks everything out. Nyx couldn’t ask for a better partner. 

Even after he’s come, Nyx waits a minute before he pulls out. Orgasms with Ignis leave his brain fogged, and he likes to be coherent when he exits, because he likes to see the way his seed drags out of Ignis’ abused hole. He likes seeing it dribble out the gaping entrance, spilling down Ignis’ creamy thighs. Ignis’ entire ass is flushed an angry red, and Nyx slaps it again just for good measure. Ignis makes an inhuman noise that somehow makes Nyx’s cock twitch, even though he’s completely satiated. Ignis doesn’t even try to stand up. 

Fully satisfied, Nyx grunts, “I’m hungry.” Normally, that would have Ignis offering to serve him. Clearly, that’s not an option now. 

Nyx tucks himself back into his pants but doesn’t bother with his belt. He flicks Ignis’ skirt back down, because as nice as Ignis’ butt is, it’s going to need all the layers of protection it can get. Nyx knows it’s going to sting in the morning. He also knows that Ignis is going to love that. 

With some effort, Nyx carefully collects Ignis off the table. He scoops Ignis towards him, one arm around Ignis’ back and the other under his knees. Ignis collapses against Nyx’s chest, and Nyx can’t resist pressing a kiss against his forehead. His bangs are now completely disheveled, some strands brushed back and others clinging to his face. It makes him even cuter. 

Ready for desert, Nyx heads to the kitchen. He stops only to grab a pillow for poor Ignis’ rear, to which Ignis murmurs, “ _Thank you._ ”


End file.
